


establish the work of our hands

by Jothowrote



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jothowrote/pseuds/Jothowrote
Summary: The Beholding has chosen its avatars, and binds them together under its Eye.Martin gets angry, Elias is surprised, and Jon... gets hurt again.E/M/J for the TMA Pairing Week.





	establish the work of our hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is (essentially pre-) E/M/J for the Piles of Nonsense TMA Pairing week!
> 
> unbeta'd. I might continue this eventually, but wanted to get it up for the right day this week!

After the showdown between Daisy and Elias, when the dust has settled, everyone ends up congregated in the staff breakroom.

Martin suppresses the urge to make everyone tea, and seethes.

The anger rises up his throat like acid – anger he didn’t think he could possess. Anger and frustration and fear, with jealousy a bitter splash on top. Elias had looked after Tim, had helped Tim. Tim, who had done barely any work for months, who ran away to Malaysia, who wants to leave. Elias seemed to care about Jon’s wounds. What about Sasha, apparently dead for a year, gone without any of them remembering? Had Elias cared about her? 

What about him?

His hands twitch with the need to do something, so he follows his instincts.

No one even looks up as he violently empties out the cupboards in the break room. He finds the small first aid kit right at the very back and releases a small avalanche of Tupperware when he pulls it out. Then he storms out of the break room and lurks outside of Elias’ office, waiting for Jon to emerge.

When he does, Jon looks dazed like the rest of them, and it’s easy enough for Martin to usher him firmly towards his office (that Martin had been keeping relatively clean in the optimistic hope Jon would be back). Jon sits down easily enough in his chair, and Martin gets to work.

The cut is relatively easy to deal with, as it is neither particularly deep or wide. Jon tilts his head to allow Martin to clean and plaster it, surprisingly docile.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jon says, as Martin smooths the tape down around the bandage. ‘I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about… about Sasha, and…’

‘Don’t,’ Martin says, moving back to admire his handiwork. ‘Just – let’s not. Let me see your hand?’

Jon falls silent, and dutifully holds up his hand. Martin clucks his tongue over the shoddy gauze wrapped around it, and carefully peels it off to reveal the second degree burn beneath. Some of the blisters had already burst and stuck to the bandage. Jon hisses in pain.

‘It’s ok, I know how to deal with this,’ Martin says. ‘When I was looking after my mum, she burnt herself a lot. She would try to cook, and it wouldn’t go well. We need to clean this – are you ok to walk to the kitchen?’ 

With the burn cleaned and wrapped, Martin finally looks Jon over. He looks – not well, anyway, not covered in bandages as is he is – but the dark bruises that had taken permanent residence under his eyes seemed to have faded. Jon looks, if anything, more vital than he had those last few tense weeks before the murder and the… everything that happened. He looks like he might not be healthy now, but definitely on the way to healthier. Though leaving the archives had made Tim ill, it seems to have revitalised Jon.

‘It’s good to have you back,’ Martin says, and it’s true. There was a weight on his chest that has lessened, now that Jon is back where he belongs. Jon smiles.

‘Thank you, Martin.’

‘I knew you didn’t do it,’ Martin blurts out, as Jon turns to go. ‘I just,’ he pauses, ‘I just… I want you to know that. I knew you didn’t kill that man – Jurgen Leitner.’

‘I… thank you,’ Jon says, his face softening. ‘That’s – surprisingly nice to hear.’

**

Tim, surprisingly, has gone back to work. Melanie is sitting, now, but still staring into space as though waiting for everything to make sense. Daisy and Basira have vanished, and Martin doesn’t care where to.

That anger is still roiling inside him, having only been tempered temporarily while he looked after Jon. Now, unencumbered, it rises again, and now he knows Elias is alone in his office. Martin realises that his hands have clenched into fists, and when he uncurls them, his nails have left crescent indentations on his palms. Before he can stop and second-guess himself, Martin gathers up that righteous fury laced with jealousy, centres it deep, and uses it to power himself to Elias’ office.

He storms in without knocking.

‘Ah, Martin. What-‘

‘You!’ Martin shouts, one shaking hand outstretched. The door slams behind him. ‘You _knew_ all this, and you didn’t tell us. You’re a murderer and a liar and you made everyone think Jon was a _murderer_ , for Christ’s sake-‘

‘Martin. Sit down.’

The authority in Elias’ voice makes Martin flinch, but he’s too buoyed up on fury to listen to the nagging voice in his mind making him want to buckle his knees.

‘You forced Jon out into the cold, and he’s been _hurt_ , and Sasha is _dead_. How can you sit there and act like you _care_ about us?’

Martin takes a deep breath, blinks furiously as his eyes sting, and keeps shouting.

‘I’ve been trying so hard to keep this place running while Jon – after you forced him out – and yet Tim has done nothing but go against everything and yet you help _him_. I just want to know _why_.’

Elias, who up until that point had been unreadable, shivers, and his eyes go wide.

‘Well,’ he says, smiling, ‘this is an interesting turn of events.’

‘You – what?’ Martin asks, wrongfooted.

Elias just blinks at him, as Martin slowly runs out of steam. He finally lets his legs bend and he sinks into the chair behind him.

‘I felt compelled,’ Elias said, his hands steepled together, smiling wide. ‘It was only small, I grant you, but I felt it. Martin, you _have_ been busy.’

‘Compelled? What? I…’

‘Jon can do it – it comes part and parcel with being the Archivist. The ability to extract people’s statements. To _compel_ them to answer. And it appears you have been granted that ability too.’

Elias leans back in his chair, and stares at him.

`What did you want to know?’ he asks. ‘I’ll answer as much as I can, for now.’

Martin feels distinctly off-centre, and scrambles around for a question.

‘Why did you frame Jon?’ he asks, eventually. ‘You just admitted to the murder anyway – murders – and you had dirt on the Detective the whole time. Why did you force him to leave?’

Unspoken; _to leave us_.

‘He wasn’t leaving the nest,’ Elias says. ‘So, like a reluctant baby bird, he had to be pushed.’

‘But he got hurt!’

‘Yes – but nothing fatal. He needs to learn. I can’t handfeed him, or he won’t survive.’

Martin’s head is ringing, and nothing makes sense.

‘You were helping Tim,’ he says, quietly. ‘And you were helping Jon, in your own way, I guess. Because we’re all part of this thing. We’re your… your fingers, or whatever you said.’

‘Yes – not my best analogy, granted, but I was under pressure at the time.’

‘But then… Sasha…’

‘I was too late for Sasha,’ Elias says, and he looks genuinely remorseful for a second. Martin almost feels apologetic. ‘I saw what was happening too late, and by then the Stranger had dug its claws in. But it’s not just Sasha, is it, Martin?’

Martin looks down at his hands, curled tight in his lap, embarrassed. A hand curls gently along his cheek, lifting his chin, and somehow Elias has moved to stand in front of Martin without him noticing.

‘The prodigal sons return, and the one who stayed behind is bitter and resentful,’ Elias says gently, almost a croon, as he cups Martin’s face in both palms. Martin just looks up at him, confused and a little weirded out, but something inside him feels soothed and makes him want to lean into the contact. ‘It’s always the way. But you have been a loyal servant, and you are being repaid. Have you noticed your gifts, Martin? How did you feel, when Jon returned to the archives? Did it feel _right_?’

Martin nods as Elias’ hands slide into his hair, cradling his head. He thinks back to when Jon had appeared with his strange retinue in tow. The feeling of relief had been almost instant. The weight had lifted, because he knew that Jon was back where he belonged.

‘That, and more. You knew Jon was alive and well, while he was gone,’ Elias continues, not looking away from Martin’s eyes. ‘You knew, even though you didn’t know how. And just now, you tried to compel me.’

‘I – I didn’t mean to.’

‘No – and it was weak. Not anywhere close to Jon’s power. But you filled in his position for long enough that you’re gaining some of the benefits. I may need to be more hands-on with Tim,’ Elias says, ‘but you are here and doing more than I could have imagined.’

The anger all but fizzled away now, Martin can’t hold back the whole-body shiver induced by Elias’ praise. He is still looking up at Elias’ face, and he knows Elias saw his reaction. It embarrasses him – makes him want to duck his head, to make some excuse to leave the office and go back to work – but he also can’t bear to tear himself away. He feels relaxed and calm, for the first time in a long while. 

He tries to shake it off, this strange, false calm, creeping over his limbs and making him feel heavy and lethargic. Elias, still gently but firmly holding Martin’s head, smiles in an annoyingly enigmatic way.

‘I should… get back to work,’ Martin stutters, unable to look anywhere except into Elias’ intense eyes.

‘Yes,’ Elias said, and he finally, _finally_ , lets Martin go.

Martin has barely made it down the corridor towards the assistants’ office before someone grabs him and drags him into the supplies cupboard. He barely has time to shout before the door is shut behind him and he and his assailant are plunged into darkness.

‘What the-‘ he squeaks, only to be cut off as a hand seals roughly over his mouth.

‘Shush, Martin, it’s just me.’

The cupboard is dark and there’s an awkward jostle of limbs in the small space. A phone screen lights up, and Jon is standing uncomfortably close, his wild eyes shining from his gaunt, shadowed face.

His hand drops from Martin’s mouth, and Martin takes a breath.

‘What,’ he whispers, ‘the _fuck_ …’

‘What did Elias want?’ Jon hissed, cutting him off again. ‘What did he say to you?’

‘You… what?’ Martin shakes his head. ‘Is that what this farce is about?’ He gestures to the dark supply cupboard.

‘Elias can’t be trusted-‘

‘Yeah, no shit. He just admitted to killing two people!’

‘What did he _tell you_?’

Martin feels it then – the tingling. It starts at his feet and shimmers upwards, like a wave, sending a rush fizzing through his body like sherbet. It makes his teeth ache and his head spin. He suddenly, desperately, wants to answer Jon.

Then he swallows and grits his teeth.

‘Did you just try to force me to tell you? After everything that’s happened – after everything I’ve…’

Jon looks remorseful in the harsh light of his phone torch and opens his mouth, but Martin has already pushed away from him and opened the door.

‘Just… let me get back to work,’ Martin sighs. He leaves Jon lurking in the cupboard without another word and goes back to work.

**

Elias calls Martin into his office the next day. Martin goes – despite knowing that his boss had killed two people in cold blood, one of whom had been his employee, Martin feels strangely sure that Elias wouldn’t hurt him. Not after their talk. Elias was _proud_ of him. He was doing well.

Martin walks through the door, sees Jon sitting in one of the chairs, and immediately wants to walk back out.

‘Ah, Martin. Thank you for joining us,’ Elias says, sitting at his desk with his hands steepled. He gestures to the empty chair, next to Jon, and something tugs at Martin’s chest uncomfortably. The sensation vanishes when he sits down, but he steadfastly refuses to look at Jon.

‘Now, we can’t have this,’ Elias rebukes, gently. 

‘Martin, I-‘

‘Did you know, Jon, that our Martin has been taking up the workload while you’ve been away?’

Jon’s face pales, and he turns wide eyes on Martin. 

‘You’ve… you’ve been reading the statements?’

‘Some,’ Martin admits. ‘I can’t do that many at once,’ he admits, looking back at Elias, trying to apologise. ‘They take a lot out of me.’

Jon, if anything, looks more panicked.

‘You’ve let him do this to himself?’ he snarls at Elias, flinging a hand towards Martin. ‘He doesn’t need to do that – that’s my job!’

‘Well, I’m sorry for trying to help you while you were on the run!’ Martin snaps, annoyed, as Elias rolls his eyes.

‘Martin has done this by himself, Jon. I am not the omnipotent, omnipresent entity you rather flatteringly seem to think I am. Martin, show Jon what you can do.’

Elias smiles encouragingly at Martin, and he takes a deep breath.

‘Where did you go? When you ran?’

He digs deep and pushes as much _want_ into the question as he can. Jon, staring right at him, noticeably shivers.

Elias chuckles, clapping his hands together delightedly.

‘See? Not very strong, yet, but I’m sure that will change in time.’

Jon does manage to keep his mouth shut, although it looks like it’s an effort.

‘I see what you mean,’ he says, to Elias, ‘about it tingling. Martin – I’m so sorry…’

‘Sorry? What is there to be _sorry_ for?’ 

‘You’re… I’m not sure if I’m entirely human anymore, and now you’re…’

‘Are you worried I’ll get stuck here, Jon?’ Martin says, acidly. ‘That I won’t ever be able to live a normal life? Because that ship sailed years ago, regardless of whether I knew it at the time.’

‘You’re quite correct, Martin,’ Elias says.

Jon looks like he’s about to cry.

**

It’s Jon who finds Martin collapsed on his desk, after recording a statement which had pushed him over the edge. Jon spent less time in the archives and more out in the world, collecting statements direct from source. Martin had been trying to pick up the slack.

He’d been stupid. He’d known it would have been one too many. But he was still desperate to prove himself, to Elias, to _Jon_ , and he’d overextended.

Martin wakes up to Jon calling his name and patting his cheek.

‘Jon?’ he murmurs. ‘You’re back?’

‘You’re awake!’ Jon heaves a huge sigh. ‘Here – can you sit up?’

Martin tries, but his body is heavy and lethargic and doesn’t want to move. Jon helps lever him up into a sitting position but his head lolls embarrassingly.

‘I’ll get you some water,’ Jon says.

It feels like he returns in seconds – Martin wonders whether he passed out again.

‘Here, have some of this,’ Jon says, and then he’s cupping the back of Martin’s head and guiding him to the glass.

The water is cold and manages to cut through some of the cotton wool fuzz in Martin’s brain. Martin blinks and manages to gain some control of his faculties.

‘’s my fault,’ he groans. ‘I did too much.’

‘It’s easily done,’ Jon says, pushing forward the fancy guest biscuits. Martin takes one gratefully.

‘You shouldn’t be recording these,’ Jon sighs, shooting the still-running tape recorder a distrustful look. ‘It’s – they’re too much.’

Martin is too tired to be annoyed – instead, he reaches out to try and pat Jon’s hand. He misses a little and ends up ineffectually pawing at his jumper.

‘I want to help,’ he says. ‘You shouldn’t have to do everything by yourself. Elias says that-‘

‘Fuck Elias,’ Jon says, but there’s more resignation than vehemence in his voice.

‘You don’t need to do this on your own,’ Martin repeats, reaching out his hand again. This time Jon catches it and holds it between both of his. He smiles, and Martin thinks vaguely how much nicer he looks when he smiles. He looks younger, softer around the edges.

‘Thank you, Martin,’ he says.

Even after a biscuit and the glass of water, Martin still feels like death warmed up. With Jon’s help, he manages to stagger to the small cot he’d used back when he’d been attacked by Prentiss – it felt like years ago now. The cot was just as uncomfortable as he remembered.

He fades in and out of consciousness as soon as his head hits the pillow. Jon’s face swims in front of his, his hands tucking the blanket around Martin and squeezing his hand. Then, between blinks, Jon morphs into Elias, who strokes Martin’s head and smiles like a crocodile, wide and too much teeth.

When he wakes, he’s alone.

**

It’s always a tense atmosphere while Jon is away. It reminds them all too much of the time when they’d all thought he was a murderer. It reminds Martin that Elias is a murderer.

Martin compensates by recording statements until his mind swims with fatigue. He stays overnight in the archives almost every night while Jon is away. He tries to justify it – it’s easier to just sleep there than to make the trek home – that he needs to record them. He knows, deep down, that he wants to be there for when Jon comes back.

Jon does come back in the night, this time – Martin actually sleeps through him staggering through the archives but wakes up to the sound of Elias’s voice.

Martin bursts into Elias’ office, still half asleep and in his pyjamas, to find Jon dripping with blood and Elias looking mildly concerned.

Jon takes one look at Martin and quickly raises his hands.

‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ he says, but Martin has already crossed the room to see for himself.

Jon is right – it’s only a small head wound, but it’s gushing blood like a broken faucet and looks absolutely awful.

‘I’ll get the first aid kit,’ Martin says.

When he gets back, Jon is perched on Elias’ desk and Elias is standing beside him, one hand on Jon’s head, the other on his arm. Martin feels a pang of jealousy – but doesn’t know which one he is feeling jealous of.

Martin approaches, apprehensive, but Elias backs away to let Martin closer.

‘Good job, Martin,’ he says, softly, as Martin – for the second time in not long enough – gently cleans and bandages his boss’ wounds.

Martin bites back the shudder of pleasure at the praise. The tableau is almost identical to when Jon had first returned to the archives. Martin has no doubt that Elias was watching them the last time, too – this time he is physically present.

Something inside Martin feels settled – feels _right_.

He is vaguely aware that his connection with Jon and Elias is too much – above and beyond the normal bonds you should have with your friends and family, let alone your two bosses – but he can’t quite bring himself to care. He feels deeply needed and wanted and _useful_ , for one of the first times in his life.

Elias’ hand is on his shoulder, and Jon smiles up at him, pliant under his hands.

‘Thank you, Martin,’ Jon says.

Martin feels so happy he could burst.


End file.
